On a chilly November morning, I hauled ass to a Lower Manhattan hospital to see about a uterus. Specifically, a hysterectomy. The ultimate yeeting of an organ I wanted out…
Here’s what I remember: a wooden bowl. My father’s silver hair under the spotlit kitchen island. Hands busy mashing yolk and rind; the squeeze of a tube of anchovy paste,…
When I’m meeting a new lesbian, I always fear the moment they’ll ask me if I’m into sports. Because then I have to tell the truth: Yes, I love basketball!…
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